


Radio Ramblings

by jhanjones



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Headcanon, Love, M/M, Song Lyrics, Songfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15676920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhanjones/pseuds/jhanjones
Summary: A series of unconnected stories inspired by songs heard on the radio





	1. Eliot: “Attaboy” by Stuart Duncan, Chris Thile, Edgar Meyer, and Yo-Yo Ma

Eliot’s long fingers wrapped around the thin neck of the violin his chin resting on the base of the instrument. The stings let out of high pitch screech as he ran the bow over the horsehair strings. He frowned at the sound. It had been a long time since he practiced. He tried once again.

This time the note was right. Eliot let his fingers take over as he played by memory the songs of his first lessons coming forth with no thought. He had just finished the solo from “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” when the sound of applause broke him out of his bubble of concentration.

“I didn’t know you played the violin,” Quentin said pulling Eliot back into the present.

Eliot dropped the instrument to his side. “I didn’t think anybody was home.”

Quentin shrugged, “Just got back from the library.” He had never seen the older magician look embarrassed before. Eliot twirled the bow in an effortless motion.  
Quentin realized he must have done the move a thousand times or more. “Have you played long?”

Eliot twirled the bow once again, “Since I was a kid.” He used his telekinesis to summon a pillowcase from the other side of the room.

“Don’t you have a case,” Quentin asked as Eliot slipped the violin in between the fabric.

“The difference between a violin and a fiddle, one you carry in a hard case, the other in the pillowcase,” Eliot repeated the old joke.

Quentin frowned, “What? That doesn’t…”

Eliot shook his head, “It’s a joke, Q.”

Quentin nodded, “Did you… Where did you…”

“It’s something that my grandfather used to say,” Eliot replied to the mangled question.

“And to answer your question, this was how he always used to store it. This was his,” he held up the fabric wrapped instrument. “He’s the one that taught me to play. It was one of the few artistic outlets my family supported.”

“That must have been nice,” Quentin supplied.

Eliot smiled sadly, “It was. He didn’t care who I was or what I… He didn’t judge me the same way. He just wanted me to have fun. Sometimes when my brothers and I would visit he would take me down to the store with him where he and his friends would play on Saturday afternoons.”

Quentin smiled. Eliot hadn’t told him much about growing up, but he knew he had a hard time with bullies like Logan Kinnear. It must have been nice to have some sort of escape. “How come I’ve never heard you play?”

“I don’t normally play when people are around,” Eliot answered.

“Why? You’re great,” Quentin said his hands flapping enthusiastically.

“Because, Q, that’s the only thing I know how to play,” Eliot replied. “It doesn’t really fit my image.”

“The one song,” Quentin asked.

“Not the one song,” Eliot said rolling his eyes, “The style, Coldwater.”

“What if we got you more sheet music?” Quentin suggested.

“I don’t know how to read it,” Eliot replied after a long minute. “Pap-Paw taught me to play by ear. That’s how he learned, that’s the only way he knew how to teach."

“Pap-Paw,” Quentin repeated.

Eliot’s heart dropped further, he hadn’t meant to say that. “My grandparents were from Kentucky.”

“I wouldn’t have…” Quentin started.

Eliot rolled his eyes, “It’s appalling, I know, but there’s nothing to be sorry for, Q.”

“Would you play something more for me,” Quentin asked hopefully.

“If it will stop you from looking like a kicked puppy, I suppose,” Eliot conceded. “I hope you like bluegrass.” He removed the violin from the pillowcase and moved it back to between his shoulder and chin. The bow raised once more at the ready…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song led to the creation of the headcanon that Eliot plays violin. I honestly no idea how it came to be, but it did. I hope you enjoyed this bit of randomness. Feel free to leave comments or kudos.


	2. Margo: "Lullaby" by Shawn Mullins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo and Eliot are secrets partners for The Trails.

“Scrunch down you giant,” Margo ordered as she stood before Eliot. “If you think I can reach up there you’re mistaken.”  
  
“Yes ma’am,” Eliot said with a grin. He knelt in front of the tiny brunette, her dark skin shining in the fire-light of the nearby tiki torch.  
  
The two of them had chosen to perform the ritual neat the Physical Kids’ Cottage, the place both of them felt safest.  
  
Margo painted stripes of black paint along the apples of Eliot’s cheeks and then his collar bones. Eliot mirrored her actions with the white paint on Margo. He bound her narrow wrists, the ropes making her look even smaller. She copied her movements.  
  
“Where do you want to start?” Margo asked.  
  
“How did you lose your virginity,” Eliot suggested.  
  
“My virginity? You think that has to deal with my highest utmost truth?” Margo asked skeptically.  
  
Eliot shrugged and reached out with his telekinesis for the flask tucked away in the pocket of his vest that lay on the bench a few feet away from them. He used his fingers to uncap the lid and took a swig and offered it to his partner.  
  
“My parents’ bedroom sophomore year of high school,” Margo said before taking a drink from the proffered flask. “What about you?”  
  
“Eighth grade, behind the school gym,” Eliot grimaced. “We got caught by the football coach. He made us run laps while he called our parents.”  
  
Margo kept her expression neutral at this obviously unpleasant memory. “How did your parents react?”  
  
“If it hadn’t been with Wilson Andrews, it would have been fine. They didn’t mind when Kyle had a close call with being a teenage parent,” Eliot grumbled. “I got a black eye for sticking my hands down somebody’s pants.”  
  
“My parents still don’t know about what happened in their room,” Margo said.  
  
“Well bully for you,” Eliot hissed as he took a long drink from his flask. He didn’t want to get into this shit with anybody, Margo included.  
  
“They don’t know because they don’t care,” Margo explained. “My parents are pointless, toxic people, codependent on their hatred of one another. They stay together for the business.” She raised her tied hands to brush a lock of hair out of her eyes. “They sent me away to boarding school when I was eight years old. They never wrote to ask how I was doing and I never wrote to tell them how I was. If I died, I don’t think they would even notice.” She took a long breath, trying to calm herself. “When I was at school, my first or second year away, the last day of school came. Everyone was in the lobby with their suitcases. More and more parents came, fewer and fewer students were left until it was only me.  
  
“I kept thinking they would come. The sun ticked across the marble floor. I would pick a spot and say ‘they’ll be here before it gets to x.’ Then x would come and I would choose a new spot.  
“The teachers kept calling but they couldn’t find either of my parents. The teachers wanted rid of me, I know that. They couldn’t start their summer until I was gone. But I got to eat with them. I felt so special at that moment. It was after dinner when my dad finally showed up,” she scoffed. “He was mad at me. He had forgotten me and it was only the frantic calls from the school office that reminded him I existed. Having to come and get me interrupted his important business meeting.” She grinned. “I kicked him. I told him I didn’t want to go home with him. In that time waiting, I realized I didn’t matter to my parents. I was simply something they did because it was expected. I could only rely on myself.” Her voice broke on this last statement.  
  
“Shhh….” Eliot soothed drawing her to rest her head on his shoulder. He began to hum softly then a bit louder. _“She grew up in the Hollywood Hills and the Boulevard….I say everything is going to be alright, Rockabye, Rockabye…”_  
  
“How do you even know that fucking song, from some terrible 90's compilation disc?" Margo demanded.  
  
"I think we can blame my one of my brothers for it," Eliot said taking another long drink from the silver flask. “And you’re pretty much the girl in the song, it seemed fitting” Eliot added.  
  
“Shut up you ass,” Margo said hitting his chest before returning her head to his shoulder. “I hate that song. One of the girls used to mock me with it at school because I was from L.A.”  
  
She smacked him again. It was then she realized her ropes were gone.  
  
“That’s all it took?” Eliot asked looking down at the ropes still tied around his hands.  
  
“You just had to admit that you had shitty parents you couldn’t count on?”  
  
Margo shrugged, “I don’t make the rules. What is the thing you most don't want people to know about you? Come on, El. What here does nobody know? I know you didn’t dress like that,” she gestured to the pile of sophisticated clothes sitting on the bench a few feet away. “I saw that plaid shirt and farm boy jeans at the exam.”  
  
“Farmboy,” Eliot repeated. He had been home for a few days after of his last year at college. His father had pulled an Uncle Vernon and locked all of his clothes away forcing him to wear things he had left behind at the farm. He had gone into the root cellar to get something for his mother to help with dinner and instead had walked into the sunny lawn of a college campus in upstate New York.  
  
Margo cocked her head to the side. She hadn’t seen that expression on his face before. “Why does face look like that?”  
  
“I…” Eliot took a long drink from the flask. “I was… You were… I …I grew up on a farm in Indiana.” He took another long drink.  
  
“That can’t be your big secret,” Margo protested.  
  
Eliot took another drink. The ropes were still around his wrists. “Clearly not,” he said setting his flask down. “I… You aren’t the only one with horrible parents. My family would rather see me dead than admit having a faggot of a son.” He was looking away from Margo. “That’s what he told me when I was 14.” Eliot swallowed. “The price of being me is that I don’t have a family. I am alone.”  
  
“You’re not alone, you idiot,” Margo said hitting him again. Both looked down at the soft thump as the ropes fell to the ground. Before either could say another word, their bodies were racked with pain as they transformed into geese.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from Shawn Mullins "Lullaby", Margo's speech is paraphrased from "The Magician's Land"


	3. Quentin: "Sober Up" by AJR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set season 1, around the time of episodes 9/10.

Quentin sat curled in the corner of the living room of the Physical Kid’s Cottage.  He held a half-empty Solo cup, not that he wanted the drink, but it would deter Eliot from pushing something more on him.

 

Quentin wondered how much longer he would have to stay here before he could sneak back to his room.  Eliot held center court at this party, like always, but no matter how much attention was focused on him, he always seemed to know where Quentin was.  The older magician wouldn’t let Quentin just disappear. It didn’t matter if the younger man didn’t want to be there. Eliot never seemed happier than at the center of a good party.  He seemed to think everybody was happier that way too. Even now, after Mike and Eliza, he was still partying.

 

Quentin sank further back into his seat as he took a long sip of his drink.  Eliot’s loud infectious laugh could be heard clearly as the music changed. A new song came on, one Quentin wasn’t familiar with.  Eliot seemed to be enthralled in whatever conversation he was having with Margo or whoever. Quentin decided to make a break for it.  He set his cup down and headed for the stairs.

 

 

> _The music got louder as he walked._
> 
> _Won’t you help me sober up_
> 
> _Growing up it made me numb_
> 
> _And I want to feel something again_

 

Quentin’s heart clenched.  He knew how that felt. If it wasn’t for Julia (and a fair amount of Zoloft), he probably wouldn’t have made it through high school.

           

 

> _Won’t you help me sober up_
> 
> _All the big kids they got drunk_
> 
> _And I want to feel something again_

 

Quentin headed up the stairs he had to get away.  He couldn’t be around people anymore. He didn’t run up the stairs but he didn’t take them two at a time.  The second floor of the house was completely abandoned. From what he could tell, everyone was downstairs at the party, a fact Quentin was thankful for. He closed the two-toned green door firmly behind him.

 

Quentin flopped on the bed his stomach to the mattress, focusing on his breathing.  “In on one, out on five… In on one, out on five…” His eyes moved from the blanket to the nightstand.  His eyes fell on the white envelope, his full name on the front in a painfully familiar hand. His stomach turned over painfully.

 

The letter had been sitting on his nightstand for over a week.  He hadn’t been able to bring himself to read it yet. After everything that happened with Mike, Eliza, and Eliot, it was too much.  What could Julia possibly have to say to him?

 

Quentin stretched out a hand and took the envelope.  It wrinkled as he sat up to read the words his one-time best friend had written to him.  He pushed a stray lock of hair behind his right ear.

 

> **Dear Q,**
> 
> **I don’t need to tell you how pissed at you I am. Probably got the message around the time I incepted the shit out of you. I don’t understand why we fell apart after being friends forever. Anyway, I’m sorry for my part.  I never meant to really hurt you.**
> 
>  
> 
> **I put it down.  I got help. I know you’re not supposed to say the other person fucked up too, but you fucked up too, and it broke us, and I hate you for that, because I really miss us, Q.**
> 
>  
> 
> **I’m working on forgiving you,**
> 
> **Jules**

Quentin pushed his hair back once again.  Her words hurt, no matter how fair they might have been.  The song from earlier started to replay in his head. He would have to try and find out what it was.  What he would do for decent internet service at the moment. He was sure Penny would be banging on his door in a minute to threaten to rip it out, all two verses he heard. Quentin laid back down on the bed, on his back this time, reading through the letter once again.

 

“Quentin,” his name was a question Alice asked from the other side of the door.

 

“Umm…” Quentin replied after a moment.

 

Alice opened his door, “I wanted to see if you were okay.  Margo said she saw you come back up here.”

 

Quentin nodded, “I’m… Yeah… Uhhh…”

 

“Were you crying?” Alice asked.

 

Quentin frowned and touched under his eye with a crooked finger.  He didn’t think he had cried.

“No… Ummm…”

 

“What’s wrong,” Alice asked.

 

Quentin got to his feet.  A lock of hair fell into his eyes and he pushed it away, “I ummmm….I got a letter from Julia.”

 

“Julia? The one who put you under that spell?” Alice demanded.  “She could have killed you, Quentin.” She took a seat on his bed.

 

“I know,” Quentin agreed. “She was my oldest friend.  You don’t just…” he faded off.

 

“What did he want?” Alice asked as she crossed her arms over her chest.

 

“She uhhh…” he hummed trying to find the best words, “she wanted to tell me she’s doing better.”

 

Alice sat down on his bed, “That’s good, I guess.”

 

“Yeah,” Quentin agreed.

 

Alice picked at the comforter, “Are you going to forgive her?”

 

Quentin frowned again, “I don’t know.” It was better, to be honest. “Everyone makes mistakes.  She’s not with those people anymore.”

 

Alice looked at him disapprovingly. The two sat in an awkward silence. Quentin sat back down on the bed beside Alice.

 

“What did she say,” Alice asked again.

 

“Nothing, just she’s doing better,” Quentin insisted.

 

“Then why are you so upset,” Alice asked.

 

“Vix,” Quentin breathed.

 

“No,” Alice insisted. “Why were you so upset?”

 

Quentin sighed, “I don’t know how we got here.” He fell back on the bed.

 

“Could be that she tried to kill you,” Alice suggested.

 

“But how we got to that point,” Quentin clarified.  “She was my first friend growing up.”

 

“How did you meet?” Alice asked carefully.  She didn’t really care, but she could see Quentin wanted to talk about it.

 

Quentin smiled for the first time possibly since Eliza’s murder.

 

“We were in second grade…” he began.

 

******

 

“You okay Curly Q?” Ted asked placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

 

The boy nodded anxiously. The man gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

 

“What’s your name sweetie,” a woman at the table in the hallway asked.

 

“Quentin,” the boy mumbled to his shoes.

 

“Coldwater,” Ted added when the woman looks expectantly at the boy then to the man.

 

“Room 215,” the woman says handing the boy a card with his name on it.

 

Father and son walked up the stairs together, Ted’s hand still on Quentin’s shoulder.  There are a number of parents and children milling about in the hall on the second floor when they arrive. The door to Room 215 is closed so they join the crowd.

 

Quentin’s dad falls into an easy conversation with another parent there to drop off their child. His dad is good at that sort of thing.  Quentin has never had an easy time making friends. The boy drifted toward the end of the hallway, away from the crowd and some of the noise. He pulls a book out of the backpack he set on the ground beside him. He always finishes these tests early, it’s good to have something to read since you’re not allowed to do anything else. He loses track of time as he gets lost in the world of fantasy.  His dad had gotten him the set for his birthday last year and he’d had one of the books with him ever since.

 

“Quentin,” his dad said pulling him back into the real world.

 

Quentin looked up from the page.  The hallway was empty now.

 

“Test time,” Ted explained.

 

Quentin stuck the lightning shaped bookmark between the pages to mark his spot and got up off the floor.  His dad took the book slipping it back into his bag. They walked the short way up the hall together.

 

“Good luck,” Ted wished.  “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

 

Quentin only nodded. There was a teacher sitting at a large oak desk at the front of the room

 

“Mr. Coldwater,” the woman asked.

 

Quentin nodded.

 

“Find a seat.  We’ll begin in a few minutes,” the woman instructed.

 

Quentin nodded again. He made his way toward the desks. The seats at the back were all taken by older students so he moved toward the side not wanting to be boxed in.  He set his bag down on a chair three back from the front of the right-hand side of the classroom.

 

The room was warm.  He could feel the itchy feeling you get before you sweat on his back.  He tried to pull off the heavy sweater his mom had made him wear and lost his balance.

 

“What a dork,” Quentin heard an older boy say as he freed himself from his fabric prison.

 

“Leave him alone,” a girl said standing in front of the boy.

 

The boy must have been a couple of years older than the girl.  She didn’t back down when the boy stepped forward.

 

“Please take your seats,” the teacher called.

 

There was a general clattering as the students made their way to their seats.

 

The girl made no move to do as she was told, “Are you okay,” she asked.

 

“Yeah,” Quentin said.  He pushed his hair out of his eyes.

 

She smiled and found her desk at the front of the room two desks over and three up from Quentin’s.  The movement a knight in chess would make he realized. Quentin watched the back of the girl’s head as the teacher read the instructions for this part of the exam. Quentin wasn’t paying attention, he was too focused on the girl in front of the class.  He did catch the teacher setting down an egg timer and heard the word, “Begin.”

 

Quentin opened the test book that sat on the desk in front of him.  He got lost in the world of quadratic equations, polynomials, and algebra.  It took him a little over forty minutes to finish the exam the first time. He looked up to see how the others were doing, the girl was still working.  Quentin went back over the problems to make sure that he did indeed have the right answers. After another ten minutes, he pushed the papers away and dug out his book.  He didn’t hear the teacher call time or that they could get up and stretch their legs. He didn’t notice the people moving until the girl from before came up to stand in front of him.

 

“What are you reading,” she asked.

 

Quentin ignored her, she moved to try and see, her long hair obstructing the pages.

 

“It’s Harry Potter,” Quentin finally said trying to make her go away.  He just wanted to read.

Nobody would make fun of him or try and hurt him if he sat here quietly and read his book.

 

“Who’s your favorite character?” The girl asked not realizing or not caring that Quentin wanted her to leave.

 

Quentin sighed and closed the book.  She clearly wasn’t going to leave him be to enjoy his book. “Harry’s the hero.”

 

The girl smiled, “Yeah, but he couldn’t do anything without Hermione.  She’s my favorite.”

 

“She’s good too,” Quentin agreed.

 

“Have you ever read Fillory and Further?” the girl asked.

 

Quentin shook his head.

 

“You should, they’re even better than Harry Potter,” the girl suggested.

 

“Okay,” Quentin said hesitantly.

 

“I’m Julia,” the girl said.  She stuck out her hand like grown-ups did when they introduced themselves.

 

“Quentin,” the boy said taking her hand awkwardly.

 

The teacher told them to return to their seats so they could start the next hour went by quickly as he ground his way through the math problems.  Time was called and everyone began to file out of the room to their waiting parents. Quentin was one of the last to leave, his dad stood, waiting across the hall from the classroom door.  The girl, Julia was there too. She was still waiting for her parents.

 

“Bye Q,” Julia said with a wave.

 

“Bye,” Quentin returned.

 

“You make a friend Curly Q,” Ted asked as the two walked down to the car.

 

“I guess.  Can we stop by the library on the way home?” Quentin asked from his seat in the back of the car.

 

“Of course,” Ted agreed.

 

That night before bed Quentin started “Fillory and Further, Book One.” Julia was right, it was better than Harry Potter.  It was so much more real. It was the realest thing he had ever read. He stayed up all night to finish the book, reading under the covers so his parents didn’t yell at him for staying up so late.  From that night on, he had two new loves, Fillory and Julia. He didn’t even know her last name. Quentin was so happy to see Julia in his advanced math class during his first week of school.

 

******

 

“Julia introduced you to Fillory?” Alice asked.

 

“Yeah,” Quentin said pushing the hair away from his face again.

 

“I never know that,” Alice said surprised.  “The way you talk about her. Did you… Are you in love with her?”

 

“I… No… She was my best friend,” Quentin objected.

 

“No,” Alice said shaking her head. “You had feelings for her.”

 

“Yeah, but… She didn’t have them back,” Quentin explained.  “It doesn’t matter. We’re not friends anymore…”

 

“She helped make you who you are,” Alice told him.  “You can’t just push that away.”

 

“So, you want me to forgive her?” Quentin asked confused.

 

“I want to you feel like you can tell me things,” Alice corrected. “Was it the letter that upset you and why you came up here?”

 

Quentin shook his head.  “It was a song on, it was playing on the radio.  It made me think of Julia.”

 

Alice cocked her head to the side taking in the information, “What song?”

 

“I don’t know,” Quentin admitted.  “I hadn’t heard it before. They were talking about growing up and feeling numb and wanting to feel something again.  Julia has always been there when I’ve felt like that.”

 

“And you want her back,” Alice finished.

 

“No, just that it’s hard knowing she won’t be there in the future,” Quentin corrected. “I don’t know, maybe I heard the song wrong.  It’s not that important.” He pushed his hair away from his face yet again. “Do you want to go back to the party,” he suggested.

 

“No,” Alice said leaning over to place her head on his chest.  “Do you want to tell me more about Julia?”

 

“You don’t want to hear that,” Quentin protested.

 

“But I want to help you feel something again,” Alice explained.

 

“Thanks, Vix,” Quentin said wrapping an arm around her.  “What do you want me to tell you?”

 

“Whatever you want to tell me,” Alice replied squeezing him tightly.


End file.
